


Homecoming

by anastasiapullingteeth



Series: Sweet Children [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Blood, Depression, Drug Use, Guns, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide, Tattoos, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastasiapullingteeth/pseuds/anastasiapullingteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras finally gets to know who Montparnasse was and what happened to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Someone actually asked for this and I'm so happy bc I wasn't sure I should post it. So shout out to [SeptembersEnd](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SeptembersEnd/pseuds/SeptembersEnd) and thank you! 
> 
> P.S. I say "Major Character Death" but I'm obviously talking about 'Parnasse.
> 
>  _ **tw:**_ depression.

**Oakland California - 2013**

 

Enjolras entered his apartment, slamming the door. He threw his bag beside the chair and flopped face down on the cushions. He’d just came back from a well-deserved vacation in New York after the strenuous tour they did with Grantaire and his band across the country, and the mess of the label him and the rest of _Carpe Diem_ were trying to open.

 _Grantaire_ , he thought burying his head in his hands with clenched teeth and growling. He checked his phone again. There were no calls or messages from his boyfriend since they parted at the airport and it only infuriated him more. 

Yes, maybe had been his fault they’d discussed during their stay in the Big Apple; he acknowledged he should’ve been more tolerant of him, but Grantaire unhinged him with his lack of motivation and constant cynicism. If he just realized how talented he was…

He pulled out his cell phone again. Was it too soon to call? He bit his lip, eyes fixed on the screen. By that time, he should already be in Minnesota. But no, it wouldn’t be he who called him first; Grantaire had to understand that if he wanted the relationship to work, he also had to do his part.

Enjolras was sure that after giving him a few days to think about it, Grantaire’d come to his senses.

 

***

 

Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong. It had been over a week and Enjolras hadn't heard from Grantaire; he was beginning to worry.

He had weighed the idea of calling Jehan and ask where the hell Grantaire was, but didn't want to explain why they had fought and risk losing his head in the hands of the young musician.

 _As if he didn't know already, don’t be an idiot_ , said a voice in his head that sounded incredibly similar to Combeferre.

Resigned, he packed a few things, took his keys and left for Minnesota. 

 

***

 

 **Minneapolis, Minnesota - A few days later.**  

 

"Oh, shit." It was the first thing Jehan said when he opened the door of the apartment he shared with Grantaire. "Uhm, hello Enjolras, what are you doing here?" he asked, taking a step toward the narrow corridor, the door almost closed behind him.

Enjolras frowned. “I came to see Grantaire?”

"Ah… Why?"

"Jehan, what’s wrong? I’m concerned, it’s been days since I last talk to him.”

"No, nothing. I thought he…" he trailed off. "Come on in, let’s see if he wants to talk…"

Jehan told him to sit and wait a moment, then disappeared into a door that seemed to be a kind of study; the sound of a guitar came out softly of the room. Enjolras looked around, trying to distract himself.

The apartment was incredibly well organized. There were guitars, books and vinyls neatly accommodated on every wall. Except one. The right side wall was completely upholstered with photographs. Unable to keep his curiosity, Enjolras approached it.

The photographs of the bottom of the wall were all from the tour. Éponine and Cosette playing cards with Musichetta; Marius watching Bahorel and Feuilly doing arm wrestling; Courfeyrac and Combeferre arguing about something while eating pizza. Enjolras couldn’t help noticing there was not even one of him and Grantaire together.

Above were some of Joly and Bossuet rolling on the grass, and some other of Bahorel modeling a new tattoo. However, almost all the others were only Jehan and Grantaire. Enjolras smiled at seeing a 17 year old Jehan hugging Grantaire by the neck, who insisted on blocking his face with one hand. Almost nothing had changed, except for the eyes. Enjolras could almost guess the order they were taken, just by looking at his sad and dull eyes.

He swallowed when he noticed a photo almost at the height of his forehead in which Grantaire appeared asleep; his features were completely relaxed and the corner of his mouth curved into a smile. He carefully took it off from the wall and looked at the back; ‘February, 2012’ it read in the perfectly stylized letters that Enjolras had learned to recognize as Jehan’s handwriting. Glancing toward the door through which the young man had gone, he quickly put it in one of the pockets of his jacket.

"You have to talk to him!" said Jehan’s voice from the next room.

Enjolras heard a grunt and seconds later Grantaire came through the door shuffling. He leaned against the wall with his head bent, and said to Enjolras almost in a whisper, “Hello.”

"I was worried about you."

"You didn’t have to come all this way, you could have called, you know?"

Enjolras sighed wearily and took a step toward him. “Grantaire, what-?”

"This is- isn’t," he swallowed hard. "This isn’t a good time, okay? Bad day… Just go, please, go back to California. I’ll be fine."

He took a few steps toward the door that was more in the background, looking over his shoulder one last time. “Sorry …” he said, and entered the room.

Jehan put a hand on Enjolras' shoulder. “He’s been like this since you came back from New York.”

"Did something happen?"

Jehan took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen. He returned minutes later with a newspaper from a few weeks ago and passed it to Ejolras.

The header of the front page said: _Claquesous, Patron-Minette’s founding member, escapes from prison without a trace._

"What’s this?" he asked, looking at the newspaper.

"You want some tea? It’s a long story." Jehan led him to the living room, beckoned him to sit down and went back to the kitchen. Minutes later he entered the living room again, holding a mug in each hand. He passed one to Enjolras and started talking.

"When I was 16, my family and I moved to a new neighborhood. My mother was a very religious and strict woman, and I hadn’t permitted to be outside, so I went to my house from school and back without talking to anyone." He made a pause to sip at his drink. "Once, I was on my way back from school when I bumped into Grantaire."

 

* * *

 

 **Luverne, Minnesota - 2000**  

 

Jehan walked down the street with his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. He was mad at his mother; why couldn’t he go to this party? Just this one, it wouldn't hurt anyone. He’d never make friends like that. Jehan felt so lonely, having only his parents to talk to since the moving; what a depressing way to waste his youth.

Maybe he could go for a while, after all his mother would be at the church doing only God knew what (literally) until around nine. He’d be back before she came home. Maybe-

"Hey there, long face."

Jehan lifted his head. A young man was standing in front of him waving his hand, his black hair shoved inside a green beanie and hazel eyes glowing with a smile. Jehan took a moment to see him.

His lips were thin and his long nose made his face look handsome even whit the dark marks under his eyes. A patch of color poked out of the collar of his shirt and Jehan swallowed at the thought of his own hands running down a bare chest covered in tattoos. He shouldn’t be thinking about that, though; his mother would kill him if she ever find out.

Jehan eyed him suspiciously. Why was this guy talking to him? He thought that maybe if he ignored him, he’ll get the hint.

"I hadn’t seen you before, you’re new around here?" the stranger asked, walking down the street next to Jehan.

Jehan didn’t say anything. And was he- was he following him?! He didn’t want this scruffy guy to know where he lived, but what could he do? Keep walking, keep walking until he gets bored and leave him alone. The funny thing was, Jehan wasn’t scared.

"What’s your name, by the way?"

"Jean." Fuck… (He’d be so dead if his mother could read his mind).

"Jehan then", the stranger said, and Jehan couldn’t help rolling his eyes. "I’m Grantaire, nice to meet you." He stretched his arm towards Jehan, but the boy didn’t take it.

Grantaire stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, then retrieved his hand and smiled at Jehan.

“Well, this is me, buddy”, he said, stopping in front of a yellow house. “I live in that hovel-wearhouse-shithole over there?” he added pointing at a small room on the backyard. “If you ever need anything?”

"Thank you." _Not in a million years._

"Well, see ya."

Grantaire nodded slightly and walked to the little warehouse, leaving Jehan standing alone in the street. Jehan’s eyes went wide when he noticed something: he was just a few steps away from his own house; Grantaire was his next door neighbor.

 

***

 

Jehan didn’t saw Grantaire the next days, and he surprised himself missing the man’s constant babbling on his way back home. He thought that maybe Grantaire had noticed his hostility and had simply given up on him. It was a shame, he was really attractive.

The next week, however, he saw him leaning against the wall of a tattoo shop, smoking. He didn’t talked to him, didn’t even try to say hello or attract his attention in any way, but if he stared at the sideboard of the grocery store across the street a little longer than what was necessary, it was a total coincidence.

"Hey, Jehan!" he heard behind him.

Success.

He turned around faking indifference and had to suppress a smile when he saw Grantaire approaching him.

"Hey."

"You heading home now?"

"Yep."

"Cool, I’ll go with you." Grantaire said, throwing down his cigarette and extinguishing it whit his foot.

They both walked in silence for about five minutes, until Grantaire decided it was enough and started talking like a machine gun, shooting words here and there, not really expecting feedback from the teenager. Jehan loved hearing him talk and when he couldn’t stop himself from laughing at one of his awful jokes, Grantaire’s smile could have brightened the entire state.

 

***

 

After that, Grantaire’s company became a constant. He waited for Jehan outside the tattoo shop and then walked him home, telling all kind of stories or listing the places Jehan should totally visit, including the Pizza Palace at the end of the street.

Jehan learned a lot about him on their walks. He was a tattoo artist and lived in that kind of warehouse since he was 15. He could play the guitar and the piano (“I can teach you if you want!”) and was self-taught. And the most amazing thing? He was 21 years old.

Yes, Jehan was friends with an older totally-hot-musician-tattoo-artist man; his mother would be _so_ pissed off.

"Well, we’re here." Jehan said stopping at his door. By now, after almost a month of Grantaire walking him home, the older man already knew they were next door neighbors.

"Go inside, kid. We don’t want mama get mad at us for the tardiness."

Jehan snorted. “Nah, she won’t notice. Won’t be back until late.”

"Wanna come to my place for a little while?" Grantaire offered. "I have food", he said with a smile.

Jehan would never be alone at home again.

 

***

 

Six months after meeting Grantaire, it was time for Jehan to expand his list of friends.

"And then Montparnasse just stared blankly and ended him with a single move," Grantaire was telling him, cooking something in the small stove. "Babet almost killed him, he’d be planning his strategy for like an hour. Moral of the story: never play chess with ‘Parnasse, he’s fucking good at it."

"I’d love to meet them someday." Jehan said, sitting on the bed with his legs folded under him.

"Sure, are you free this Saturday?"

He wasn't, he never was, but he could come out with something to escape the boring hours helping in the church. He’d never lied to his mother before, but had never really had a reason to, not until today at least. This was definitely worth it.

"I think I can make a space for ya", he said with a cocky smile.

"Charming."

 

***

 

"Montparnasse lives here", Grantaire said that Saturday, stopping outside a car workshop downtown. "But, we never go through the front door. When we come here to see ‘Parnasse, we use the back door. No exceptions."

"Why?"

"His father is… How could I say it? … A dick." Grantaire answered, leading Jehan to the back yard.

The teenager glanced at the car workshop one last time. The floor was greasy and there were auto-parts everywhere. Outside the door was a big bulky man with a big scar on his left cheek. His arms seemed as thick as Jehan’s torso and he had a look it could kill someone with only thinking about it. The man stared back at Jehan and frowned, checking him out; he was honestly scary.

"Who’s that guy?" he whispered.

"Don’t know the name, but it’s one of the reasons we never go there. Horrible things happen in that place, Jehan. ‘Parnasse is always talking shit about his father, he hates that old man."

Grantaire knocked on a door in the back, waiting only a minute when steps could be heard on the other side. A tall man wearing a mask that covered the half of his face opened the door and raised an eyebrow.

"Look who’s here!" he shouted. "And you brought a puppy!"

"Fuck off, Claquesous."

"Where you’ve been, princess? It’s been years since we last saw you." Claquesous asked, walking in front of them through the small hallway.

Jehan step closer to Grantaire and the older man took his hand reassuringly; Jehan’s heart skipped a bit.

"Hardly your business. Is everyone else here?"

"Yup. The boss has a new job for us."

"Cool. Not me, though. You know that."

"Boring!" Claquesous sing-sang. "And who’s this?" he finally asked, inspecting Jehan.

"Jehan."

"Hi?", the teenager mumbled.

"He’s cute. Hope we can keep him."

They entered a new room with the wall completely covered paintings and animal furs. The furniture seemed expensive and a big stereo played music in the back. There were three other men sitting in the couches. One really thin with dark, inscrutable eyes; other incredibly well built sitting next to him, running a hand through his short hair.

The one in the center had a sidecut and his black hair fell down on his eyes, contrasting with the silver of the piercings he had on the nose and lip. He wore a sleeveless black shirt and wristbands with studs; his grey eyes focused on Jehan immediately.

"Good morning, Grantaire. Fancy meeting you here. Who’s this pretty boy you brought to my presence today?"

"He's-"

"- Jehan." Claquesous answered instead, occupying one of the couches.

"Yeah, that… He’s Claquesous , by the way", Grantaire told Jehan. "That one’s Gueulemer", he pointed at the big guy, "and he’s Babet", tilting his head towards the one with mysterious eyes. The three men saluted him, not bothering to move from their comfortable positions.

"And this one right here", he said pointing at the man with the sidecut. "He’s Montparnasse."

Montparnasse stood up and came across the room to stand in front of Jehan. He looked down at him, inspecting his factions, lifting a single finger to run down the boy’s cheek.

“I’m the king of the forty thieves and I’m here to represent that needle in the vein of the establishment”, he said seductively.

"Yeah," Gueulemer snorted. "With an angel face and a taste for suicidal."

"You look so young...", Jehan gasped.

"He’s actually a year older than me." Grantaire said from his left.

"Welcome to the club, pretty boy, I’m the resident leader of the lost and found." Montparnasse said, ignoring Grantaire and opening his arms wide with a flourish move.

"So, Montparnasse?"

"And don’t wear it out", he added with a wink.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Montparnasse visits Grantaire, everything goes out of control when he sees Jehan there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don’t like how this turned out but I gave up on re-writing it, hope it isn’t too disappointing.
> 
>  _ **tw:**_  referenced rape/non-con, drug use, guns, suicide, blood.

Jehan’s 17th birthday was around the corner. Grantaire wasn’t the kind of guy who gave presents, it wasn’t something he did with his friends and the last time he’d given a gift to his parents he was five. So it was kind of a surprise when he found himself downtown, looking for something he could give to Jehan on his birthday. He had not found anything yet.

He gave up an hour later and decided to go back and maybe work on something homemade. A drawing, perhaps, he was a tattoo artist after all; he could do a portrait for the kid. Besides, Jehan had given him a poem on his own birthday, so he thought it’d be a nice detail if he drew something for him in return.

Jehan came to visit him at the tattoo shop the afternoon of his birthday. He couldn’t stay, his parents had plans, but wanted to see him before that. Montparnasse was there, too, flipping lazily the pages of a magazine.

"Hey, birthday boy!" Grantaire greeted him, before pulling him into a hug. "I got you something. It’s not much but, well, yeah." He handed him a piece of paper neatly folded and Jehan’s face lighted up when he saw it. It was a drawing of them smiling. Jehan had told him he loved taking pictures, but his mother had refused to buy him a camera. The drawings would do for now.

“Thank you so much, I love it!”

“Until I can get you a camera, okay?” he whispered in his ear, hugging him once more.

"Birthday boy? Damn, I didn’t get you anything." Montparnasse approached him, surrounding his shoulders with a thin arm. "Maybe we can improvise something. How about a kiss?" he whispered into Jehan’s ear. "The whole  _ride_  if you want.”

"Thanks, but no thanks." He shrugged off Montparnasse’s arm. "I gotta go. See you tomorrow, guys!"

"What was all that crap?" Grantaire asked, suppressing a laugh.

"I’m trying to woo the kid."

"Don’t do that." he said, his tone serious all of a sudden.

"You like him, don’t you?" Montparnasse said, elbowing his ribs. "That’s why you’re so jealous, you don’t want me to get in his pants."

He might have a little crush on Jehan. The kid was beautiful; his amber eyes were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen and when he smiled, a tiny dimple appeared on his cheek. And yes, he also had that distracting round ass, Grantaire had eyes, but that wasn’t the point. What he loved more about him, however, was that Jehan brought the best out of him.

He’d never cared about anything or anyone before -one of the reasons his parents had kicked him out of the house-, but with Jehan, Grantaire couldn’t help feeling protective, even a little cuddly, and he enjoyed the feeling.

"I’m not jealous," he grunted. "But you said it yourself; he’s a kid. Besides he doesn’t want to sleep with you, just leave the poor boy alone."

"The thing is… we’re not gonna ask him, are we?"

"What?"

"That’s what my father says: ‘take what you want’. That’s what he tells them; it’s time for me to try it myself from the other end."

"You wouldn’t do that."

Montparnasse winked at him, but didn’t say a word.

Grantaire knew Montparnasse and the others were into all kinds of illegal stuff, he was the heir of the family business and had begun to build his own empire at a young age, but Grantaire had never really considered what he was capable of.

He’d never been part of those jobs; Montparnasse didn’t let him at first and then he wasn’t interested anymore. They told stories, though. Obscure stories about murder and mangling and all kind of horrible things, but he always was way too high to take them seriously. Seeing Montparnasse wicked grin, he thought that maybe they weren’t just stories after all.

 

***

 

"Ready?" Montparnasse asked, looking expectant; Jehan swallowed and nodded. "Okay. It’s better if you do it fast."

The teenager took the roll of paper and inhaled deeply, feeling the white powder invading his nose; it was horrible. “That’s a good boy,” he heard Montparnasse saying, but was more worried of the itchy feeling in his nose.

At first, anything happened; but after like 10 minutes he was drowsy, a rush of pleasure running inside his body. He lay down on the couch with his eyes closed, enjoying the warm feeling. The cushions sunk down when Montparnasse climbed over him, straddling his hips.

"You’re a really good boy, Jehan."

"It feels amazing," he said, his words slurred. "I could… Yeah."

"Jehan, c’mere." Grantaire asked from the other couch. Jehan couldn’t quite see him, especially with ‘Parnasse sitting on him, but it seemed he was miles away.

"Can’t move," he replied slowly, feeling nausea creeping up from his stomach. His mouth was dry and his breathing slow, but he felt so well; his eyes closed in contentment.

"Montparnasse", Grantaire urged. The dandy grunted, but got up anyway. He ran a hand through Jehan’s short hair, tugging gently at one copper strand, causing the teenager to giggle.

He stayed like that during a long time, singing at the music that came out of the stereo and giggling at the bits he caught from the conversation around him. When he felt the drowsiness giving in, he rolled on the couch, falling face flat on the carpet. “Oh.”

Babet helped him up onto his feet, laughing and petting his hair like he was a puppy.

"Come sit on my lap, baby" Montparnasse called him.

He took a few steps, but the nausea was back with force, followed by an urgent need to throw up. Grantaire was at his side in an instant, tilting his head to look into his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Jehan shook his head. "Don’t worry, I’ll take you home."

"Leave him here," Montparnasse interfered. "We’ll take care of him."

"No. His parents will be back soon, I’ll take him home."

Jehan waved goodbye to the others, covering his mouth with the other hand, feeling completely sick. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the drug was leaving his body and his head hurt. He felt like dying.

 

***

 

"When are you leaving?" Grantaire asked while reading a comic book.

"Next friday…"

"That sucks. Imagine if you could stay here without your parents, that’d be great", he said, not really thinking it through.

Jehan was leaving with his parents to a stupid spiritual retreat in Montana. He’d be over there for a month, and neither he nor Grantaire were really excited about the idea. Though, Grantaire hadn’t persuaded Jehan to beg his parents they let him stay at home. A month away from Luverne meant a month away from Montparnasse.

He’d managed to keep Jehan away from them since the incident with the heroin. They’d barely put a foot in the car workshop and had only talked to the others on the rare occasions they went to visit him at work. He should tell Jehan what was going on, but didn’t want to scare him; he’ll control this himself.

But Jehan had another plans, Grantaire discovered that same Friday when the kid appeared on his doorstep, a bag in his right hand and a bright smile on his lips.

"Surprise!" he said, stepping on his tiptoes to peck at his lips.

"What the fuck?"

Jehan pushed pass him and got himself comfortable on Grantaire’s favorite (and only) armchair. “Mom and dad let me stay here. I just had to promise I wouldn’t come to see you; I got the feeling she hates you.”

Well, there went Grantaire’s plans.

He’d be lying if he said a part of him wasn’t bouncing around; he was already looking forward for night after night of cuddling with Jehan.

 

***

 

Living with Grantaire during the past two weeks, had been Jehan own heaven. It was just the two of them, sharing everything and laughing together. Jehan was an only child and, even though he was hopelessly in love with him, Grantaire was the closest he’d ever had to a brother; he wasn’t only his best friend, he was his soul mate in a way that went beyond the word itself.

They were in the middle of a guitar lesson, totally forgotten in favor of the constant kisses Jehan stole every time he had the chance, when the phone rang. Grantaire answered, sighing deeply after hearing the voice in the other end.

"What’d you want, ‘Parnasse?"

Jehan tried to play the scales Grantaire had taught him, pretending he’d actually paid attention.

"No- Look, I can’t talk right now, but I won’t take him over there. You know why, you know exactly why… Go to hell." Grantaire whispered and hung up, coming back to his place next to Jehan.

"Is everything okay?" he asked sheepishly.

"Yeah, uh… I need you to promise me something."

"Okay…"

"Promise me you won’t go to see Montparnasse without me, okay? It’s important."

"Okay, I promise."

 

* * *

 

Grantaire lifted Jehan off of him and let him lay on the bed. His slender body was still squirming a little, and he couldn’t help a smile. He got up, throwing the condom in the trash can, and took his old t-shirt to clean the mess; when he was finished, laid beside him resting on his elbow to have a better look at his face.

"How you feel?"

"Awesome." Jehan answered, pulling him down for a soft kiss. "You’ll have to sneak into my room once my parents are back, there’s no way I’m quitting this."

Grantaire snorted. Jehan snuggled beside him and cautiously surrounded the man with his arm; Grantaire hugged him back, kissing him lovingly until they both fell asleep.

Grantaire woke up later that night when he heard someone knocking the door. Jehan was still fast asleep, curling next to him, his warm breath ghosting over Grantaire’s neck. The black-haired man closed his eyes again; whoever was outside, could come back later.

The knocking became violently then, a fist slamming against the rotten wood repeatedly; Jehan woke up with a jolt, frowning at Grantaire.

"Whatddup?"

"I don’t know."

"Grantaire, open up!" Montparnasse’s voice shouted on the other side, barely audible above the pounding of his fist. "I know you’re there, open the fucking door!"

_Oh, no._

Grantaire jumped out of the bed and put on his jeans. “Get dressed,” he asked Jehan and the teenager didn’t even hesitated before obeying, taking his clothes from where they’d landed on the floor.

"Grantaire!" Montparnasse yelled again. "Open the goddamn door, you fucking shit."

Grantaire stopped in front of the door. He knew that tone, he knew what it meant; Montparnasse was completely baked. That wasn’t a good sign.

“‘Parnasse, what’d you doing here?” He asked through the door, urging Jehan to stay silent.

"Open the door, Grantaire, please…" the other man begged, and Grantaire felt his heart clenching inside his chest. "Please… Open up…"

He glanced at Jehan. The teenager was completely dressed now, sitting on the bed and trying to fix his crumbled clothes; his eyes were still heavy with sleep. Grantaire had a bad feeling about this, but Montparnasse was his friend, despite all the things he did, and he needed him. Grantaire opened the door with hesitant fingers.

Montparnasse step inside the room, supporting his weight on a table. He was limping and his face and arms were bruised badly; his bottom lip was cut, but for what it looked like, it had stopped bleeding long ago. His pupils were fully dilated and his hands trembled noticeably.

"Oh, God, ‘Parnasse. What happened?" Jehan asked, approaching him.

"Dad got a new client", he spat out. "Guess what his welcome gift was. That fucker surely enjoyed our time together…"

Grantaire swallowed the lump in his throat. He thought that shit had ended; it’d been a while since the last time that old man had forced ‘Parnasse to please a client. He felt the rage boiling inside of him, trembling with the desire to make him pay for putting his own son in this nightmare.

"Jehan?" Montparnasse asked, narrowing his eyes. "Why are you here?"

"I was… Paying Grantaire a visit."

The older man cupped Jehan’s cheek with his hand, titling his head forward, searching comfort; Grantaire step closer. However, the hand moved to the boy’s neck. “What’s this?”

"What?"

"Hickeys" he brushed the marks with his fingertips. "Who’s marked you, Jehan? Who’s claimed you as theirs?"

"It’s nothing," Grantaire said, gently pulling Jehan away from the other man. "Come on, let’s get you in the shower."

"So it was you." Montparnasse accused him, glaring at his naked torso. "What was all that crap then, Grantaire? ‘He’s too young, ‘Parnasse’", he said, mocking Grantaire’s voice. “‘He’s just a kid, ‘Parnasse’. Wanted the new toy only for yourself?"

"Montparnasse, that wasn’t-"

"Thought we were friends, Grantaire. First you bring him in, you forgot about us… and then won’t even share?" He moved a hand to his back, leaving it there. "You betrayed me… You too betrayed me…"

"No! That’s not how it happened. Listen-"

"I won’t listen to anyone’s last words, there’s nothing left for you to say. Soon you’ll be dead any way," Montparnasse shrugged, pulling out a gun of the back of his jeans and pointing directly at Jehan’s head.

 

***

 

"What would you do, Grantaire? What would you do if I pull the trigger? Everything would be back to normal, right? I could just…"

"Put that down." Grantaire warned, approaching Jehan carefully, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. "I’m not joking, put that down! You don’t wanna hurt anyone…"

"Don’t I? I don’t think you understand. No one is getting out alive, Grantaire. This time I’ve really lost my mind and I don’t care."

Grantaire reached Jehan and push him behind him; the teenager was frozen in place, his eyes open wide and his body trembling uncontrollably. He started sobbing and pressed his forehead to Grantaire’s back.

Montparnasse lowered the gun an inch, hesitating when his friend was the one at stake, but lifted it immediately after, his grip firm on the cold metal of the gun. He was crying, big tears rolling down his face and onto his shirt.

"I hate him", he sobbed. "I fucking hate that bastard."

"I know…"

He lowered the gun, enough to be safe for both him and Jehan. Grantaire reached behind him and squeezed Jehan’s hand gently; he was shaking, Grantaire needed to take him out of there. Montparnasse unsteady breathing was all that could be heard.

"I can’t escape, though. I’ve tried, you know that… I can’t- he’d find me. I’m- I can’t…" Montparnasse trailed off and straightened his arm again; Grantaire flinched. "Get out of here, Grantaire", he ordered. "I need some time alone with Jehan."

"Please, don’t." Jehan whimpered behind him, curling his fingers in the waistband of Grantaire’s jeans. "Don’t leave me here. Please."

"I won’t hurt him, I promise. We’re just gonna play for a while."

Grantaire held on Jehan’s hand firmer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

"If you don’t move, I’ll shoot you", he threatened, but Grantaire didn’t move an inch. "You’re the only thing I have, man. Don’t do this to me."

“‘Parnasse-“

"Do you ever think back to another time?" he suddenly asked, his voice shaky. "Did it bring you so down that you thought you lost your mind? Do you ever want to lead a long trail of destruction and mow down any bullshit that confronts you?"

Grantaire didn’t say a word. He couldn’t think clear anymore; his body was numb and his head was filled with an annoying buzzing that didn’t let him hear his own thoughts. He needed to do something, he had to stop this; it’d all been his fault.

"Well, I’m taking it all out on you and all the shit you put me through." Montparnasse said and took a step forward. "So close your eyes and kiss yourself goodbye and think about the times we spent and what they’ve meant. To me it’s nothing."

He lift the gun to his own temple. Grantaire tried to stop him but it was too late; the sound of the gunshot ripped the air in the room, pounding Grantaire’s ears so hard that for a moment he feared he’d gone deaf. Jehand screamed, but Grantaire kept his eyes fixed on the wall before him, not daring to look at the body lying at his feet. He didn’t want to see Montparnasse’s lifeless eyes staring back at him.

He turned and hugged Jehan to his chest. “Close your eyes, Jehan”, he choked. “Close your eyes and do not open them, okay? Don’t open them…” he kept saying, until they were out of the old warehouse, leaving behind the stinging smell of gunpowder and blood.

They sat down outside on the dry grass, clinging to each other, unable to say a word. Jehan was still trembling, sobbing loudly against Grantaire’s skin; he, on the other hand, couldn’t feel a thing.

Moments later, a black car parked in front of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Montparnasse is St. Jimmy, who do you think is Jesus of Suburbia?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan and Grantaire run away from home, their lives are about to change completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! No, I didn't die, I was having a really hard time trying to wrap my head around doing anything, really. But I'm back! Yay! And this is a lot longer that I had planned.
> 
> Now, I'm sorry about this, please be careful when you read it.
> 
>  _ **tw:**_ violence, PTSD, homophobic language, homophobia, alcohol abuse, non-explicit drug-induced sex, tattoos.

Jehan opened his eyes slowly and blinked a couple of times. His sight was blurry, no mattered how much he tried to focus, he couldn’t see clear. Wasn’t until a warm drop fell on the back of his hand, that he notice he was blind on his own tears. He gasped when someone took him by the shoulders and lifted him from the ground.

"Wait! Where are you taking him?" another person shouted. The voice was slightly familiar.

"Tell me where he is or your friend would pay it!"

Jehan forced his brain to focus on the scene before him and a bang of pain hit him straight on the chest. Grantaire was on the ground, a large man holding him against the grass with his knee on top of his back, staring intently at the man in a suit holding Jehan, waiting for instructions. Claquesous, Gueulemer and Babet were behind him, their arms hanging heavy on their sides and a grim expression clouding their faces.

And Jehan remembered.

He remembered spending the afternoon in Grantaire’s bed, the frantic knock on the door, Montparnasse’s lost eyes. And the gunshot. He remembered the gunshot and then everything was a mess inside his head. He didn’t know how he’d gotten outside or where those men had come from. A broken sob escaped his lips.

"I told you!" Grantaire yelled again. "He’s inside, but-"

The man in the suit threw Jehan to the ground and strode to the warehouse. He yanked the door open and stopped short, his hand firmly closed around the doorknob. Jehan could smell gunpowder coming out of the room and, before he could stop it, he braced himself on his arms and knees and threw up on the grass. He heard Grantaire calling his name in a whisper, but couldn’t look up just yet.

He saw for the corner of his eye the big man letting Grantaire go and this time he did lift his head. The guy in the suit wrapped his long fingers around Grantaire’s throat and grunted “What happened? What did you do to my son?”

"He did it himself… He finally pulled the trigger…"

The guy wouldn’t believe it, Jehan was sure. He’ll think they had killed him… and they’d be dead before someone could come to help them. But Montparnasse’s father loosened his hold on Grantaire and pushed him away.

"I was late… I…" He looked furious more than sad or worried, like he’d lost a million dollar business instead of his only son. "We’ll take care of this", he said. "You both go away. And if you say a word, I’ll find you and slide your throats open, got it?"

Babet approached him then, lifting him up to his feet. "Lemme give ya a little piece of advice, princess," he grunted close to Grantaire's face. "Leave the town and take your puppy with you, before any of us  _forgets_  and accidentally kills you both."

"Fuck you," Grantaire spat between clenched teeth. Babet hit him hard with the grip of his gun and laughed along with the others, before following Montparnasse father inside the warehouse. A thick line of blood ran down Grantaire's temple.

He stood up, reaching for Jehan and holding him by the waist. “Begone!” Gueulemer yelled and together they began the endless way down the street.

Jehan looked back over his shoulder; the big guy narrowed his eyes at him before walking inside the warehouse.

 

***

 

They walked for a couple of hours, with no place to go and no money to spend the night somewhere. Grantaire was trembling, but Jehan wasn’t sure if it was the cold wind scalding his bare chest, or the fear of what had happened. He hadn't said a word since the incident, but his face, before redden with the rush of adrenaline running inside his veins, now looked completely drained and tired; his eyes were staring at the street before him and his lower lip was swollen between his teeth.

They stopped at a park. The place was completely empty, and Jehan wondered what time it was. It was dark, maybe around one or two in the morning. He felt the childish desire of being held in his mother’s arms, like when he was little, and that mere thought triggered a new wave of tears. He cried in silence, stifling his sobs in the inside of his elbow, but Grantaire heard him anyway and pulled him closer, until he was sitting on his lap. When Jehan calmed down again, Grantaire stood up.

“C’mon,” he rasped. “Let’s go.”

They walked again and Jehan lost track of time. Grantaire turned around a corner and the teenager followed blindly, until he saw his own house at the end of the street. They were coming back.

"No! They’re gonna kill us! What you doing?!" he screamed, but Grantaire didn’t hear him. "Grantaire, stop!" and the older boy did.

He looked back at him in mid surprise and blinked rapidly. “It’s okay,” he said. “They aren’t in there… We need a place to sleep and… And…”

Jehan trusted Grantaire more than he trusted anyone, but he also knew that, even if Montparnasse’s father wasn’t in there anymore, they wouldn’t bear sleep in the same room they last saw their friend. Where he'd gone for good.

Jehan held his hand and guided him to his own house instead. There was a spare key under a flower pot and they both came inside the dark room. It was dusty, and the smell coming out of the kitchen suggested something in there had expired. He’d barely put a foot in there since his parents left; it was like go inside an abandoned house.

He led Grantaire to his bedroom and handed him a baggy t-shirt. He put it on in the dim light of the lamp outside Jehan’s window without a word and let himself being drawn to the bed; Jehan pulled the blankets above them. Neither of them could sleep until much later, once their bodies gave way to exhaustion and the sun was almost out, tinting the sky red.

 

***

 

Jehan woke up with a jolt. Grantaire was screaming beside him, covering his face with an arm and trying to drive off an imaginary attacker. His eyes were firmly closed, as far as he could see, and his legs were tangled between the sheets. He was almost at the edge of the bed.

“Let me go!” he cried, waving his hand violently. “I didn't do it, let me go!”

"Grantaire, you’re safe now!" Jehan tried to reassure him, but as soon as his hands touched his shoulders, Grantaire gasped and threw a punch towards Jehan. He moved away in time, but Grantaire fell off the bed with a pained grunt. He was curled up on the floor now, sobbing and hugging his knees to his chest.

Jehan knelt beside him, reaching carefully with his hand. “It’s me, Jehan” he whispered. “You’re fine, we’re safe now…”

Grantaire opened his eyes and looked around him scared. He focused on the teenager and his eyes filled with tears again. “Oh, Jehan… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

Jehan denied, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “No, you didn't. C’mon, come here.”

He helped him to climb back on the bed and let him cuddle around him using his slim chest as pillow, caressing his scalp with trembling fingers. They didn’t go back to sleep, but their troubled minds prevented them from hearing the front door being open and someone coming up the stairs. The door opened with a crack, startling the boys.

”Jean, honey, are you awake? We’re-“ His mother came inside, her eyes wide and mouth slightly open. She looked at Grantaire with a frown, then at Jehan and back to Grantaire. They were still on the bed, arms wrapped around each other, staring at the woman in the doorway.

She clenched the small cross that hung of her neck, breathing heavily through the nose. “What is he doing here? And move away from him, for God’s sake, this is outrageous.”

They broke apart and sat on the bed. Grantaire wiped his nose with the back of his hand, looking intently at the woman’s feet. Jehan, by the other hand, stared back at his mother with anger. His father came inside, too, after hearing the fuss; he frowned, but didn’t say a word.

"I want you out of my house this instant", his mother told Grantaire. "And stay away from my son."

The older boy shifted on the mattress, ready to leave the place, but Jehan stopped him with a hand around his wrist. “He can’t go, he needs a place to stay…”

"Well, that won’t be here" she said sternly, folding her arms above her chest. "There’s rumors on the neighborhood. They say a young man is dead. Yes, the mechanic’s son, and I know he", she pointed at Grantaire, "was his friend. You want to end up in jail?"

"She’s right… I better go."

"No. He had nothing to do with that, I was there and-"

"What?!"

The teenager cursed under his breath. He’d been stupid and now had to tell her everything. Grantaire drawn in a breath, worrying at his lip.

"I was staying at Grantaire’s place and Montparnasse… he came and… killed himself infront of us", Jehan said quickly, keeping to himself as much information as he could, trying to amend his mistake.

The woman covered her mouth with a pale hand, clenching the cross more tightly, but what she said next was a surprise. “Did you… did you slept with him?”

"What?"

"Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on, Jean Prouvaire. You’ve been acting weird since you met him, I’ve seen the things you wrote and-"

"That was private…" Jehan grunted, clenching his hands into fists. She wasn’t supposed to read that,  _no one_  was supposed to read that. He felt embarrassed and hurt: he could feel Grantaire’s questioning gaze on him, but kept his eyes fixed on his mother, fighting back the tears.

"I’m your mother, I have right to see that. You need our help, honey, just tell me if you slept with him. We can fix this."

She was using that debasing tone that infuriated Jahan so much, and the anger he’d felt since she entered the room finally found an outlet. ”A person killed himself in front of me and all you care about is whether I slept with Grantaire or not?”

"His soul can’t be saved, but we can still save yours, son. We can still pray to God forgive-"

"I still hear it, you know? I still hear the shot if I close my eyes… And I’m still scared of the gun pointed directly at my head. But you’re worried I slept with Grantaire. Well, let me clear it up to you."

"Jehan, no-"

He ignored Grantaire’s plea, as well as his hand pulling at the hem of his shirt and spat out: “I didn’t only sleep with him, mother. I let him touch me everywhere, I let him stick his tongue in my mouth when he kissed me, I begged him to fuck me hard in his bed. So, congratulations, mom. Your son is a fagot.”

"Get out of here, now! Get out of my house! You’re… you’re an abomination!"

Jehan’s eyes opened wide watching his mother storming out of the room, not sparing a glance at her only son. His father was still in the doorway, mouth hanging open and face white as paper.

"Dad…?" Jehan whispered, choking on his own contained tears.

"I’m sorry, Jean… But you and your friend have to go now. Grab some of your things and please, leave the house…"

 

* * *

 

Jehan took barely a few of his things. A couple of books and clothes, enough to carry on a backpack. He folded the drawing that was pinned on his wall, the one Grantaire had given him on his birthday and tucked it carefully in one of his pockets. His parents were nowhere to be seen when they left the house; Jehan was shaking with the force of his sobs.

"Wait here? Please?" Grantaire asked, stopping in front of his old house. "I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t move."

Jehan nodded and sat down on the sidewalk, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Grantaire breathed in deeply and headed to the warehouse.

He walked inside the room he had gotten to call home. Everything was destroyed: ripped papers covered the floor, scattered clothes on every surface and the old t.v. was broken, as if someone had hit it with an iron tube or a baseball bat. But the floor and wall were clean, no trace of blood or anything else around. He doubted those men were looking for something. He didn’t possessed anything of value, but maybe ‘Parnasse’s father had released his rage on his stuff. He couldn’t blame him; Grantaire was grateful he hadn’t done it on him or Jehan.

He collected a few clothes from the floor and shoved them inside an old backpack. He was crying, hot tears fogging his sight and making his breathing erratic; he’d been holding back the tears for so long that now they finally came out, he couldn’t control them anymore. He kept it quiet, though; Jehan was still outside and he’d come in if he heard him.

There was only one thing he’d wanted to take with him and miraculously it was still saved under his bed: his guitar. That would be down to pieces if he hadn’t pushed it under the bed by accident the previous week, chasing Jehan around the room.

He breathed deep through his nose and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands before looking around one last time. Montparnasse had helped him to put up the place, back then when they were a couple of dumb teenagers, before ‘Parnasse started to work with his father. He’d brought the armchair from his house, a gift for his new freedom.

Grantaire sat down on the floor, burying his head in his hands. What had he done? He’d ruined everything, he’d ruined Jehan’s life, he’d killed Montparnasse… He was supposed to be his friend and instead of helping him, he’d practically abandoned him. Neither of them deserved any of this, and it was all Grantaire’s fault.

"We’re fucked up, but we’re not the same", he heard Montparnasse’s voice inside his head, so clear and without any shame. "And you know what? Mom and dad are the ones you can blame…"

Jehan was still sitting on the sidewalk when he came out of the warehouse, mumbling something and clutching his hands on his knees. He gasped scared when Grantaire laid a hand over his shoulder. They walked downtown in silence, holding hands just to be sure the other was still there, was still real. They were all they had left.

“You're home to me, Grantaire. We only have each other now…"

 

***

 

They traveled aimlessly for over a year, sleeping wherever they could, working at shitty bars and eating canned food. Neither of them had much money, but they got a little extra every time they found a park or a square. Jehan wrote poems on the floor with a chalk at request of the bystanders, while Grantaire sang, guitar in hand. People seemed to enjoy it and gave them a few cents. They divided the money, Grantaire spending almost all of it in alcohol. He knew Jehan disapproved it, but he couldn't help it; it was the only way to stop the voice inside his head.

They never stayed for more than two or three months in the same city. In any other circumstance, it'd be an adventure, but Grantaire missed a huge part of it between shots of tequila and the dirty mattresses he sometimes slept at, limbs tangled with a stranger, trying to suffocate Montparnasse constant babbling on top of his own thoughts. He hadn't told Jehan any of this, but he had noticed anyway and was worried.

"We can't do this anymore, 'Aire. We need somewhere safe and real food, something."

"You really want to settle down here? This place's a shit-hole."

"I don't care!" Jehan whined, tired out. "I'm sick of this- this instability. I can't see you hurt yourself like this anymore..."

Grantaire didn't bother to answer that and ran out there, closing the door behind him, looking for the nearest bar. He could see Jehan's sad eyes burned inside his eyelids, while that nameless man pounded him against the wall of the nasty alley behind the bar; he tried his best to muffle his sobs on the guy's shoulder.

A few hours later, Grantaire walked inside the room stumbling with a chair. He giggled, trying not to make any noise, knowing Jehan was probably asleep. He sat down on the table with the bottle of whisky and took a piece of paper that was laying on the white surface. He doodled random scenes on it between sips, feeling his entire body go numb with the alcohol. His eyes started fluttering shut, but he needed a little bit more to sleep peacefully; he turned the paper and the pen he’d been holding fell down on the floor with a clatter.

There was something written there, something Jehan had left for him:

> _Grantaire:_
> 
> _My heart is beating from me, I am standing all alone. Please call me only if you are coming home. Waste another year flies by, waste a night or two…_  
>  _You taught me how to live._
> 
> _Jehan_

 

***

 

They packed their things the next morning and made their way to the next city. Grantaire was silent during the whole thing; the atmosphere was tense between them and Grantaire's hangover didn't help his mood. Neither of them had said a word about Jehan's note, but there was nothing left to say, really.

They reached Minneapolis around noon, hopping down the truck that had got them there and looking around with interest. Grantaire massaged his temples, his hands already shaking, longing for a drink.

"Okay, so we need somewhere to eat… Or drink, preferably… Jehan?"

"Over here!" he shouted, standing outside a tattoo shop, waving his hands at him.

"Come on, we don’t have time for this."

"Just want to do something first, okay? Come here."

He sighed tiredly, but followed the teenager inside the shop. He looked at him from afar negotiating with a big fat guy on the counter; his copper hair was getting really long, reaching his shoulder blades, curling at the tips. How he'd managed to keep smiling after everything they'd gone through, was beyond Grantaire.

"Yeah, that's all. Grantaire, come with me?" Jehan asked, stretching his arm.

The teenager laid face down on the chair, holding Grantaire's hand tightly to prevent himself from gasping at the pain. The big man scribbled a single letter, cleaning off the small drops of blood. Jehan held up quite well, considering it was his first tattoo.

"An R? What does that mean?" Grantaire asked, helping Jehan up.

"Really? It’s you, doofus. Grand-aire? Like the sound in french? You’re impossible…"

"And you’re ridiculous." he said, but was smiling anyway. "Wait up, I want something yours, too. But 'Jehan' is kinda... lame." Jehan nudged at his ribs, and Grantaire giggled genuinely for the first time in months.

"You know... Old days are fine but are left so far behind… But you will always be my sweet sixteen", he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "That’s it! That’s what I want, I want ‘Sweet 16’ tattooed right… here” he pointed at his right hip bone.

"Okay, on the chair" the man commanded, and Grantaire didn't think it twice.

Laying on that chair feeling the constant sting of the needle over his hip bone was, surprisingly enough, comforting. He closed his eyes, letting the familiar and bearable pain invaded his senses. But then he heard something. A beautiful voice coming out of and old radio on top of a shelf:

 

_Dearly beloved are you listening?_  
 _I can’t remember a word that you were saying_  
 _Are we demented or am I disturbed?_  
 _The space that’s in between insane and insecure._

 

He frowned and tilted his head towards the radio. It seemed stupid, but he felt those were his own words, like someone had gotten inside his head and was now transmitting his thoughts through the radio.

 

_Oh therapy, can you please fill the void?_  
 _Am I retarded or am I just overjoyed_  
 _Nobody’s perfect and I stand accused_  
 _For lack of a better word, and that’s my best excuse._

 

"Hey, dude. Who are they?" he asked to the tattoo artist, pointing at the radio with a small movement of his head. The man remained still for a few seconds, listening.

“Pfft, do you live under a rock?” Grantaire cocked an eyebrow. “ _Carpe Diem_ , greatest punk band of the west cost? Fucking good, man, I’m telling you.”

 

_I don’t feel any shame_  
 _I won’t apologize_  
 _When there ain’t nowhere you can go_  
 _Running away from pain_  
 _When you’ve been victimized_  
 _Tales from another broken home_

_You’re leaving…_  
 _Are you leaving home?_

 

This was getting creepy really quickly. The person on the radio was talking to him, he was sure. He bit his lips, the music penetrating his ears, and felt a big weight leaving his shoulders. Was like if the pain and rage he felt had found an outlet, a way to speak out what he’d tried to drown on alcohol. He needed to listen to this man that sang what he couldn't, he needed to know what else he had to say, if he felt like him, if he'd gone through a similar hell like his. And he felt at home right there; he and Jehan were coming home again.

"Grantaire?"

"Yeah?"

"Take a look at this…" Jehan handed him a newspaper, while the man worked on the words over his hip bone.

 

_Patron-Minette arrested. Face charges of drug and human trafficking in addition to murder._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enj will be back next chapter! :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Enjolras heard the whole story, he has a few words with Grantaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, beautiful friends.
> 
>  _ **tw:**_ anxiety, depression.

**Minnesota, 2013**

 

"Now Claquesous escaped from jail and I think we’re both worried. It’s kinda stupid now, but we somehow attracted the attention after Javert mentioned it…”

"Do you think he’ll come here for you?"

"Honestly? No, I don’t think so."

"Well, I  _honestly_  can see why Grantaire’s scared", Enjolras said, a little bit angry.

"He isn’t scared, Enjolras" Jehan put a hand on his forearm; his eyes looked so sad up close. "He hasn’t forgiven himself for what happened with Montparnasse. I think he’s more scared of what Claquesous can say, than what he’ll do to him." He stood up, looking at Grantaire’s bedroom door. "He’s too harsh on himself and I-" Jehan let out a huff of air. "I think I’ll check on him."

"Let me, I’ll go." He stood up but didn’t walk away. Instead, he looked back at Jehan. "Can I ask… how did you forgive yourself? How did you overcome… everything?"

Jehan look into his mug, wrinkling his lips. “I told you my mom was devoted to God?” Enjolras nodded. “When I lived with her, I used to think it was all bullshit, bed time stories to scare the children, all lies. But when we ran away, when we faced the real world, I remember how to pray.” He snorted. “Was the only thing that kept me going. And then, just like Grantaire, was the music.”

"Thank you… For telling me all this. I know it’s hard for you both."

"You deserve to know. I’m sure Grantaire would’ve told you himself."

Enjolras smiled sadly, and walked to Grantaire’s bedroom. Jehan sat down on the couch, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

 

***

 

Enjolras didn’t knock the door, instead he cracked it open carefully, poking his head into the bedroom. The lights were turned off and Grantaire was fast asleep, if the soft breathing coming from the bed was anything to go by.

He walked in slowly, stopping next to the bedside table, where he could see Grantaire’s black curls spread on the pillow. On the cold surface next to him, was an orange prescription bottle. Worried, he walked closer, leaning over Grantaire to see his face and putting a hand in front of his nose to feel his breath. He was indeed sleep and was snoring softly, so Enjolras, visibly calmed now, dragged a chair next to the bed and sat down, waiting for his boyfriend to wake up.

A couple of hours passed before Grantaire opened his eyes. His gaze wandered around the room, as if he’d forgotten where he was, stopping on Enjolras, looking at him a little confused; the frown on his face deepened.

"What’d you doin’ here?" he asked, his voice hoarse from sleep.

"Making sure you’re fine."

"I told you I’m fine. You should’ve gone back to California."

"Jehan told me what happened. You’re a hero."

Grantaire’s expression darkened. “No, I’m not. I didn’t save him.”

"But you saved Jehan." Enjolras tried, sitting next to him on the bed. Grantaire folded his legs towards his chest, drawing away from him; Enjolras let it pass. "You risked your life to save him. It’d been traumatic for him to see his friend committing suicide."

"But he heard it. Long after, he kept waking up at midnight, screaming because he’d heard a gunshot. I couldn’t do anything about it." Grantaire rubbed his eyes and Enjolras hold his hand firmly. His fingers were really cold, even between the warm of the blankets.

"Exactly, you couldn’t do anything about it. But you did save his life and prevented him from a trauma that continues to consume you. That’s… I don’t even have words, it’s… heroic."

"No! You don’t understand!" he yelled, letting go of Enjolras’ hand with a sharp move. "I should’ve get Jehan out of there. I should’ve taken the gun away from ‘Parnasse’s hand, I should’ve kept him alive…" He was crying now, and Enjolras felt his own eyes wet with tears. "Everything was my fault, I wasn’t smart enough, I didn’t-"

"Grantaire, stop. This isn’t your fault. You can get through this, but you need help. I want to help you."

Grantaire shook his head. “No one can help me, there’s nothing you can do… But I need you to go away, to go back home.”

"Grantaire-"

"If you really want to help me, Enjolras, get out of here."

Without another word, Enjolras left the room.

 

***

 

**Oakland, California**

 

Enjolras tried to call Grantaire everyday during the next weeks, but he didn't answer. Jehan picked up the phone sometimes, talking in whispers, letting him know Grantaire was fine but didn't want to talk to anyone. Enjolras hung up every time with Jehan’s promise that he’ll be the first one to know if something went wrong.

Meanwhile, Enjolras tried to distract himself with the fuss of the new label. Combeferre had said he should stay at home, that they’d take care of everything in his place, but Enjolras needed something to put his mind on. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but Grantaire's silence was killing him; he felt he was losing him, that probably wouldn't see him anymore, that they wouldn't be together after all. In more than one occasion, he had to interrupt his work to take a deep breath, begging his brain and body to calm down.

When Éponine called on the third week, Enjolras almost knocked down his cellphone in the rush.

"Hey, Enj."

"Hi, Éponine. What’d you need?" He actually had to force himself not to snap at the woman; he knew it was stupid, but was mad at her for not being who he wanted to talk to.

"Nothing, really. But I’m extending you a formal invitation."

"To what?" He didn't care, honestly, he’d say no anyway, but was trying to be polite with his best friend’s long distance girlfriend.

"To  _Sassafras Roots_  secret concert next week."

"A- what?"

"Secret concert. Next week. I won’t take a ‘no’ for an answer."

"Okay, I’ll tell the others. I’m pretty sure they’ll be happy to go." He wasn't sure Grantaire would be happy to see  _him_ , though.

"Uh-uh. Not them. You, just you. This is a personal invitation you won’t reject, Enjolras."

Enjolras let out a puff of air and sat down on the floor, arching his legs up to his chest and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Éponine, I don’t think you know-“

"I do know what’s going on, Enjolras" she said with an incredible amount of patience. "Secret concert next week. I’ll send you the address in a minute."

Enjolras kept the phone against his ear during a long time after Éponine hung up. He didn’t stood up for another hour.

 

* * *

 

**Minneapolis, Minnesota**

 

Enjolras drove the entire 29 hours to Minnesota. He spent the time trying to think of something to say to Grantaire when he saw him, but couldn’t think of anything that mattered. Instead, he parked outside the small club with a dry throat and a headache.

Éponine was already waiting for him and made him go through the back door to avoid the fans that had certainly recognized him. Grantaire was there, practicing with Bossuet a musical bridge on the guitar; Enjolras suppressed the urge to run up to him and wrap him in a tight hug. The guitarist lifted his head, his brows knitted together in confusion.

"Hi."

"Hey… I didn’t expect to see you here."

"How could I miss it? The hiatus has been unbearable."

He was talking about the concert, but he knew Grantaire had understood the hidden meaning. And he smiled. Grantaire smiled at him, shyly and didn’t quite reach his eyes, but a smile nonetheless.

"Okay, guys! It’s time. Enjolras, come with me. I have a first row seat for you."

Enjolras smiled back at Grantaire and followed Éponine down the hallway.

 

***

 

Enjolras said hi to some very surprised Bahorel, Joly and Jehan and took his place in front of the public, his eyes fixed on the stage. After a few songs, with which Enjolras was already quite familiar, Grantaire ran a hand over his face and stopped in front of the microphone.

"Uhm, hello… This is a new song, something different… And didn’t expect I’d have to sing it ever, but… well, just listen, okay?" he’d addressed the room at large, but his hazel eyes had connected directly to Enjolras. He nodded slightly and began to sing.

 

_When the days are cold_  
 _and the cards all fold_  
 _and the saints we see_  
 _are all made of gold._

_When all your dreams fail_  
 _and the ones we hail_  
 _are the worst of all_  
 _and the blood’s run stale._

 

Grantaire sang with his eyes closed, his lips touching the microphone, trying to let the words engraved on its surface. His voice came in almost plaintive tones, each verse ripping his throat.

 

_When you feel my heat_  
 _look into my eyes,_  
 _it’s where my demons hide_  
 _it’s where my demons hide._

_Don’t get too close_  
 _it’s dark inside_  
 _It’s where my demons hide_  
 _it’s where my demons hide._

 

When he finally opened his eyes, Enjolras noticed a particular brightness in them that wasn’t there moments ago. His voice got a little shaky the next verse, and had to close his eyes tightly again to say each word.

 

_They say it’s what you make_  
 _I say it’s up to fate_  
 _It’s woven in my soul_  
 _I need to let you go._

_Your eyes, they shine so bright_  
 _That light I wanna save_  
 _I cannot escape this now_  
 _Unless you show me how._

 

Enjolras felt his heart give a sudden leap; Grantaire had a tear hanging down his eyelashes. He needed to get to him, tell him he was there, that nothing bad would happen, he wouldn’t let anyone hurt him again. When the song ended, Grantaire played the last notes lifting the guitar with one hand amid the shouts of the people. Enjolras saw him hide his face in his arm, still with eyes tightly shut, trying to control his breathing. He moved through the crowd and entered the backstage. He wouldn’t let him go without telling him.

 

***

 

Grantaire stopped short when he saw him standing at the door. “I don’t know if you noticed, but that was your cue to leave.”

"I’m not going anywhere until you listen to me."

When Grantaire didnt reply, Enjolras walked up to him and took his hand. Grantaire laced their fingers and led him out of the bar through the back door. The two sat at the foot of the stairs in the middle of the alley lit by a dim yellow light. Grantaire was the first to speak.

"Listen… You better go. I don’t know what we were thinking but… We- we cannot be together."

"Why not?"

"I’m a mess, Enjolras. I don’t want to drag you down with me. I already ruined my best friend’s life, I will not do the same with you."

"I don’t… I don’t want to leave you." He wasn’t ready to say ‘I love you’ yet, but needed Grantaire to understand how important he was for him.

"I don’t want to hurt you. And I know I will, I’ll hurt you. Just saw what happened at New York! I’m going to-"

"Listen, this is what will happen: I know that anything I say to you right now will make you feel better, we’ll work on that. For now, I’ll be here with you, okay? If you need to talk or just lie down next to me, I’ll be here. And if you need to be alone, I’ll leave you alone. And every time you wake up after a nightmare, I’ll be here to remind you that it was only a dream. How about that?"

"Enjolras, we live miles apart, how are we going to make this work?"

"We’ll find a way, just let me try." Enjolras framed his face and leaned his forehead against Grantaire’s. "Just let me try", he whispered.

Grantaire made a strangled sound in the back of his throat and bent his head to kiss Enjolras slowly, memorizing the taste of his bottom lip. When they parted, Grantaire took his hand and stood up.

"I still think you’re making a big mistake," he said.

 

***

 

They walk inside the apartment still holding hands. Enjolras let Grantaire lead him to his bedroom, but once they were both inside, he hesitated a bit.

"Do you mind if we- we just lay down together? I’m not like in, uh, in the mood for…"

Enjolras kissed his forehead, stepping on his tiptoes to do so. “I’d love just snuggling with you, ‘Aire.”

They cuddled under the blankets, Enjolras letting out a contented sigh at feeling Grantaire’s body next to him after so long. Grantaire laid beside Enjolras, spooning his body and peppering kisses on his jaw and the back of his neck every so often. Enjolras stroked his knuckles with the rough tips of his fingers.

“Grantaire?”

"Hmmm."

"Why Minneapolis?”

"What you mean?"

"Of all the places you went after- ... When- ... Back then, why did you chose Minneapolis to settle down?"

He felt Grantaire’s single-shoulder shrug. “It was there where I first heard you, it seemed right.”

Enjolras lifted Grantaire’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “I missed you.”

"Missed you, too."

When Enjolras awoke hours later with his legs intertwined with Grantaire’s, he saw a picture hanging on the wall opposite to him. He leaned on one elbow, trying not to wake up his boyfriend and examined it.

It was a photo of them during the tour, sitting together on the stage after the concert in Minneapolis, holding hands; Grantaire’s face was hidden in the juncture of Enjolras’ neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, it means so much.


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